


Friendship One

by gabriel42



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 22:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17907173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriel42/pseuds/gabriel42
Summary: On the first day Ensign Spock steps aboard the Enterprise, impeccably crisp and utterly professional and staring dead ahead as if he was at a parade drill, Christopher Pike vows to himself that he will get to know the young man.





	1. Spock

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Disco: I love you, but enough with the Spockteasing already!  
> If you've always wondered how Pike and Spock came to be where they are in The Menagerie - well, here's my two cents. Hope you enjoy! Feedback is love :)

The first 28 years of Spock's life are shaped by molds. The mold of a legendary ambassador's child, well-behaved, almost diplomatic himself even at a tender age. The mold of a budding scientist, true to the legacy of the houses of Surak and Grayson both. The mold of a true Vulcan, flawless in his mastery even in the face of the most irrational taunts. Spock understands that it is his place to fulfill these roles, and that he will meet and exceed the expectations placed upon him if only he applies himself. So he fits himself to the molds, stretching himself where he needs to, folding in on himself in other places, and hacking away with dispassionate determination at the parts that never quite seem to fit. 

At 28 standard years of age, Spock of Vulcan is assigned to the Enterprise. On the first day the young ensign reports to the bridge, he stands at attention with his back ramrod straight, his face carefully blank of all expression, ready to take on whatever role awaits him on this mission. But Captain Pike just offers him a gentle smile, and bids him welcome, and Spock isn't sure what to do with that. 

A few days into the first mission, halfway through gamma shift, Spock is sitting by the window of the deserted mess hall. (He is still experimenting with the most effective ways to work around the languorous, anthropocentric duty schedule.) His padd holds an astrometric report on a nearby binary system and he is immersed in the spectral analysis of its gamma-ray emissions when the captain ambles in and stops by his table. Rather than ask about the diagrams on his padd, however, he inquires about the sandwich Spock is having. Puzzled, as usual, by the vagaries of human curiosity, Spock helpfully provides him with an abstract of the botanical characteristics and culinary uses of plomeek sprouts. He doesn't mention that combining the spread with dill is considered... nutritionally redundant by Vulcans. One point seven minutes later, the captain settles down across from him in companionable silence and tucks into a sandwich of his own. It isn't until after the meal has disappeared that Spock notices the morsels of plomeek and dill littering the empty plate.

The day Spock encounters his first subspace anomaly in the field is a day he will never forget. (Of course, being Vulcan, he can recall any moment of his waking existence in flawless detail, but this one stands out especially.) He is so engrossed in the gravimetric readout on his screen that he doesn't even register the gold-clad figure joining him at his station until it crowds into his peripheral vision. “Mr Spock,” the captain repeats, tilting his head to catch his science officer's eye. Spock is... carefully not mortified at having roundly ignored his commanding officer. “Sir,” he offers, straightening reflexively. “You're a born explorer,” Pike smiles, and that is that. 

It is the first time he pats Spock on the shoulder; a gesture Spock has seen him use with other crew members in the past. The touch is unexpected, and Spock's reaction... He quickly files it away for later analysis. In the privacy of meditation later that night, he wonders whether this is the feeling that humans describe as being “like coming home”.

The first time they spend an evening together is – like so many things on the Enterprise – puzzling to Spock at first. “Mr Spock, do you like to play chess?” Spock doesn't know what to say. “I play at grandmaster level, with a ranking of 237 in the FCL,” he finally manages, and really only a Vulcan should have been able to detect the minute hesitation. “So you would probably be bored to tears going up against an amateur like myself,” Pike concludes. His mouth curls in what Spock has heard other humans identify as a self-deprecating smile. He cannot be certain whether he has offended the captain, but he is unwilling to take risks where humans' volatile emotions are concerned. “Vulcans do not shed tears,” he tries to correct his mistake. “Our inner eyelids –“ But that isn't right, somehow. He tries to articulate, but he can't seem to piece together the argument that supports the obvious conclusion – that he would very much like to play chess with this man. But Pike just smiles more broadly, and says: “Eight o'clock, my quarters,” and somehow Spock has the impression that he has been understood anyway. 

The first time Spock takes a shot for his captain is surprisingly painful, and mercifully quick. The primitive weapon tears deep into his leg (probably lacerating the femoral artery, he self-diagnoses absently) and he loses consciousness almost immediately from the heavy bleeding. He can't tell how much time has passed when he finally drifts back to reality, blinking hazily at cold, bright lights. Sickbay. There is a figure hovering at his bedside. Not medical whites, his brain eventually registers, but command gold – liberally splattered with the dark green of half-dried blood. There is even a smudge under the eyes, Spock notes lazily, as if the man had wiped a blood-covered hand across his face. “Captain,” Spock croaks, his throat raspy, “Are you well?” 

“Well, Spock,” the captain replies, and there is something not quite right with his voice, either. Spock can see his throat working as he swallows. “It's a good thing Phil here is such a miracle worker – You're going to be as good as new. Can you imagine what it would look like on my file if I lost one of the brightest young minds in the fleet?” He blinks down at the young Vulcan once more, flashes a smile that is somehow too brief and doesn't quite reach his eyes, and then turns on his heel and limps out the door before Spock can muster a response. All that is left is the warmth in Spock's chest where the human's hand had rested. 

Spock doesn't remember the first time his bare skin accidentally brushed Pike's, and if the fact that he's Vulcan and therefore has eidetic memory says he should – well, kaiidth. Humans are careless regarding Vulcan etiquette about physical contact, and Spock finds it strange and uncivilized and disturbing and liberating – but with Pike, it just feels right. He can specify the day and hour when he last tried to catalogue his reaction to the touch, to analyse it, break it down into manageable pieces, shut it away in boxes and hide it under clinical labels – and how he failed, chose to fail, to keep that... feeling, because it was wrong but also very right in ways he couldn't explain even to himself. That was the day he decided to stand by this human's side, with a determination and loyalty that is neither human nor Vulcan, but uniquely his.


	2. Christopher

On the first day Ensign Spock steps aboard the Enterprise, impeccably crisp and utterly professional and staring dead ahead as if he was at a parade drill, Christopher Pike vows to himself that he will get to know the young man. Of course, he makes it a point to know all the souls under his command – not just their names and their stations, but their stories and their dreams –, but Spock is different. At a mere 28 standard years of age, he already has a stack of accolades thicker than Pike's and a grapevine reputation to match - but when Pike tries to read between the lines of the commendations and awards and scholarly publications, he comes up blank. Spock of Vulcan clearly has it in him to be anything he chooses, but Pike has no idea who he might want to be. 

So he treats the young man to a full broadside of what Number One privately refers to as “the Pike Charm”. It is a finely honed method, and the secret is in the little things. He pays attention to the kinds of projects Spock takes on. (The answer is: every single one that comes his way. And he completes all of them with identical, utmost diligence. This is usually more revealing.) He takes an interest in how his work is proceeding (He learns that 'agreeable' apparently has an even broader definition than 'fine'.) and in the current affairs on his homeworld. (He also learns a great deal about Vulcan politics, and probably every detail about Ambassador Sarek's work that isn't classified. He learns nothing about Spock.) 

He even tries asking about any childhood pets. The ensuing lecture on the physiology, ethology and cultural significance of sehlats makes him profoundly grateful that he wasn't raised on Vulcan. But as for Spock – he couldn't even guess whether the boy liked his personal pet nightmare. (It occurs to him that he should teach Spock to play poker. But of course Spock knows how to play poker. He should convince Spock to play poker some time. Preferably against someone other than himself.)

He even tries some of the food Spock favors. (He doesn't find out until years later that plomeek and dill is about as contentious to the typical Vulcan as pineapple on pizza. When he does, he can't stop smiling for the rest of the night.)

And yet, in between all of his careful, deliberate, utterly futile efforts, something seems to draw the young man out. Christopher never fails to smile at the memory of the day they ran into that nebula (or whatever it was) and Spock was just glued to his viewer, deaf to the world, gone in the wild abandon of scientific discovery. 

The first time they tried to play chess, when Spock slaughtered him in a record twelve embarrassing moves, yet somehow – by a convoluted argument that certainly didn't make any sense to Christopher – insisted on a rematch, and came back like clockwork every Tuesday evening since. 

The time Spock – probably mildly distracted by working out a multispectral analysis in his head while also translating the working principles of a Heisenberg compensator for a visiting Denobulan engineer – commented on a sensor reading as being 'curioser and curioser'. And the gleam in his eyes when Christopher, weeks later, referred to the young guy with the infectious smile as 'Mr Cheshire'.

The day he asked Spock about the harp in his quarters and Spock basically told him outright that he enjoys playing on occasion. The first time he patted Spock on the shoulder and he didn't flinch. 

The away mission to Alpha Remini II, when the angry natives cornered them with those wicked barbed spears and Spock – He stops the memory, tells himself not to go there. He skips ahead, to the hours spent in sickbay, watching over the unconscious Spock, his hand (still sticky with blood, there'd been so much blood...) resting on Spock's side, feeling the faster-than-human beat of a very human heart. That was the day he realized that, after all of his careful, deliberate, completely futile efforts to draw Spock out of his shell, Spock had for some reason decided to offer him his friendship. And he vowed to deserve it.


End file.
